#as if love doesnt exist

[elvencantation]

wow all these match aesthetically??? 🤍

(the tyrant wants to be good, as if love doesnt exist, like wind on a dry branch??, author of my own destiny, your throne)

[sherlockggrian]

season 10 designs yaayyy

[sunny-knight]

“Don’t… don’t tell him you think dingbat fonts are cool.”

AUGH @forgettable-au fanart :3 been on another roll with it (in agony constantly)

theres some untranslated wingdings cause i love translating it myself, hope others do too :D

not confident on how “canon” or in-character this is but- I HAD FUN this AU has really got me in the rendering spirit, I really enjoy taking inspiration but also adding mu own silly twists on it and AAA everything looks even more tasty now

I view this as them in New Home after getting something to eat (after the last page update) and heading back the same way since Alphys’ place is on the way to The Lab. The font convo comes back up again and then yeah

Alsoooo if youre interested in behind the scenes stuff heres the speedpaint :3

also i never poster about this- but i had another forgettable dream. it didn’t make any godamn sense. I woke up and drew the only scene I could remember:

Wingdings and Sans had a fight and ig wingdings killed Sans 😭😭😭 in a stairwell for some reason

and current Sans, Papyrus brother Sans, is like watching all of this and was brought here by Lancer like a Ghost Of Christmas Past type situation. Idk why. I choose not to attempt to make sense of this anymore. But i swear this is an actual dream i had 😭

[achillvs]

i cannot stop thinking about sevika continuing to be silco's dog even after his death. leaving his seat empty at the desk, when will you come back home? how she clings to the orders she's been given, even though he's not there anymore to enforce them. like a wounded animal, she bares her teeth at jinx at first, until she sees she's just a broken pup, where she immediately turns jinx into an extension of silco, someone to protect, someone to serve.

also thinking how jinx is both silco to her, a master stand-in, and a little bit how she slowly might also fall into the "is there anything as undoing as a daughter" pit that runs as the undercurrent to most of this story (though again, is it her autonomous action or because it was silco's daughter first?)

[that1notetaker]

Imagine building a family in a terrible world. Some of you die sooner, and you try to make it work. Then everyone, everything is gone, you have less than a minute to process that, and you're alone. Except it's worse! Because your family will be there, but suddenly you're not part of it. The house is in front of you and you don't have the keys.

[rottengurlz]

she’s like if the virgin mary smoked a pack of pall malls every day 🚬

[crudeoildistillation]

charlos with baby!charlos just because I thought it would be cute 🥺

[bunnieswithknives]

Dev this is serious stop beatboxing.

[tlou-obsessed]

There is something about Pedros eyes as Joel that has me on the floor, throughout the series there are alot of microexpressions he does but this damn contrast makes my heart ache.

He goes from disbelief to shock to completely shutting down when Sarah dies, there is so much pain in those eyes it makes your heart clench, it's in the way Joel keeps hugging Sarah harder as to transfer his own life into hers by pure will,

Then you have the hospital and you see no light behind those eyes, you can just feel the pure rage and agony. Him walking slower and slower and you can just feel his heart drop, and the wires come lose in his head and then there is one mission, save Ellie. His eyes man....

[redysetdare]

Some of you people need to stop acting so shitty over aspec stereotypes because it's starting to get to a point that you are just shitting on the people who experiences match the stereotypes and it's hurting a lot more aspects than it's helping.

[monkesupreme]

Maybe i SHOULD draft out my ‘Clark is a SuperPlant’ propaganda post

[onlyhereforangst]

i just wanna to the right thing.

[hermesmoly]

Been burnt too many times (has their favorite shows cancelled by netflix)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

some misc scribbles <3

[hellomayu]

pov: u keep coming back to ur toxic bf

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"